


Ball Point Pen

by Chanel_Clouds



Category: Powerpuff Girls
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, One Shot, Romance, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 08:44:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17659535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chanel_Clouds/pseuds/Chanel_Clouds
Summary: Sometimes, it's hard to focus in class. Especially when she calls out your name so tepidly.





	Ball Point Pen

**• ← • Ball Point Pen • → •**

**← ❤ • ❤ • ❤ →**

Her favorite seat was two rows down, three from the left. That girl, head full of fire; lips of a goddess- she chewed endlessly at the base of the pencil;  _the eraser down to the ferrule_. The sun reflected in her eyes, the dancing swirls of pink ice more captivating than a swarm of a thousand doves. Her legs wrapped tightly in peach nylon, her thighs pressing harshly on the cold Academy chair. She sat up straight, mulling over a question that had her worked up.

The hot air made sweat glisten off her forehead, a droplet sliding off towards her blouse, staining it with dark desires. The pencil dropped, she reaches for it, stretching hands, flexing muscles; she bent over perfectly; the  _angle_  of a goddess. Her soft fingertips, nearly touching the goal but somehow found itself muddled with mines.

My mind burns a blue fire, a flame hotter than ever, the spark brighter than before. I grabbed the pen, placing it firmly on her desk without suspicion. Our eyes met and I turned to stone; her grapple on me even tighter than before. My soul came alive. She hummed, rocking her chair forward, eyes returned to the board, a smile planted square on her face.

She was hardcore; she was strict. Short skirts and T-shirts, burlap satchels and pink loafers… and a face carved to perfection. A voice like honey, legs so creamy and brains like Berkeley. Eyes on the prize she was precious; focused. The grace of a ballerina and the spirit of a fighter – she rose to her feet.

"Could you repeat that?" She asked, smooth like silk; rich like coffee. Eyes focused on her, then eyes focused on me, the sparks flying in at least one direction. Caution in her eyes; caution in mines.

The bell rings.

The students shuffle out, grumbling, yawning; laughing. She heard her name called but her eyes were focused on me; how my hands hit the desk, how my tush touched its surface, how my glasses edged my nose.

Smooth legs in pink flats neared me, my head facing the leaving student in the room. Her hands clutched to her satchel and her ribbon tied loosely in her hair. "Could you…" she whispered, playing the spirals of her notebook, "Repeat that…" she neared me, legs now coming between my own, "Sir…" Her hot breath mixing with mines, the class door closed, glass screen preventing the prying eyes. "Brick Jojo."

I growled, her lips just barely grazing mines, teasing me with that beautiful soul of hers. My hands wrapped around in a firm embrace, my mind dazzled by her aroma. Her hair tickles my face as we shared a warm embrace.

"Stop teasing me," I pleaded, my voice hitched from urgency. But did she listen? Her eyes ogling me, her fingers brush past my jaw, trailing down my chin, sliding to my lips and I bit. She blushed, pulling it back, tracing her spiral… eyes focused on only me.

I pushed her away, remembering our borrowed time. She sulked, contorting her face with sorrow.

"Brick," She whispered, being unreasonable as always. Her full lashes fluttering peacefully.

The door flung open, Professor Bellum strolling in alongside her students, her gaze fixated on us. With a demeanor of curiosity, and a creased forehead ready for disappointment, she asked, "Interrupting something,"

Tone dropping, eyes shifting, she finished acidly, "T.A Jojo?"

Blossom froze, fidgetting with her spiral, her body righteously turned from the woman's sinful glare. The shattering of her teeth silenced by the fear of expulsion. The thrill of it all causing her knees to buckle, her eyes adoring my tanned arm - chiseled by the gods.

"Just answering a question Professor," My scripted professional reply. My face serious, my composure authoritative, my fear completely hidden. I took the pen from her grasp, taking  _too_  her notebook and scratching a messy line of words under her scribbles. I hardened at the product; the color of passion darkening at my cheeks.

"Understand Miss Utonium?" I asked, crimson balls of fire meeting pink ice cubes; both of us unaware of Sarah's lack of attention. Our hands fumbled once more as the pen was returned to its rightful owner, a smile hidden in the interchange.

She grinned, tilting her head teasingly, pleasing me with the image of  _her_  for a few seconds more. "Yes, Yes I do."

' _7 pm, our place; bring spare clothes'_

* * *

**← ❤ • ❤ • ❤ →**

* * *

Inspired by an idle chat I had with my lab demonstrator before the course co-ordinator entered the room.

(They are in college. In this case, Blossom is 19 whilst her TA is the recently graduated 21-year-old Brick. This is NOT a high school fic)


End file.
